Tales From The Lost Institute
by TheHippoman
Summary: In a world where the Institute of War is no longer canon, cast off versions of the Champions of Runeterra must adapt to life in an alternate universe without combat. Everyone is going to lose their minds. (Note: Now a series! Read Chapter 2 for info.)
1. Jhin's Greatest Crime

**AN: oh geez what is this**

 **So uh, I make jokes sometimes? This is a one-shot League comedy themed sketch. Basically, the idea was that in a Runeterra where the League doesn't exist anymore, the League had to go SOMEWHERE. So I had an idea for a comedy series about all the champions stuck there for pretty much the rest of eternity.**

 **It never really came to fruition, but I did write this bit. It's been wasting away on my hard drive for like two months. So it's a standalone for now. I might end up making an actual story and incorporating this in as one of the chapters, depending on if the idea factory wants to get working again, or if people actually like this. But we'll see. For now, hopefully enjoy, while I finish up Unholy Alliance.**

 **EDIT 10/13/16: Well, it looks like this is going to be a series now. It'll probably update sporadically, but this is no longer the only sketch in here. Hope you enjoy, and if you have any questions, ask in Reviews and I'll answer if I can.**

Steeling his will, the Eye of Twilight focused all of his senses on the target in front of him. Letting ki fill his arms, he posed, ready, arms outstretched…

"Shen, I swear, I will leave if you do not just hit that damn ball." Jarvan was leaning against a bag of clubs, each emblazoned with a Demacian insignia.

Shen's eyes snapped open, not that anyone could see it, given his mask. "We do not have "golf" in Ionia. I know nothing of the objective of this game."

The annoyed prince groaned audibly. "Olaf. Explain it, please."

From nearby, a grunt emanated from the hunched over form of the Freljordian marauder. "You uh, you're trying to cut the ball in half."

Jarvan's groan elongated this time. "Did NEITHER of you think to listen to me when I explained the rules?"

Shen shuffled his feet. "I had...things on my mind."

"Uh, same." Olaf replied.

An eyebrow raised, Jarvan inquired. "What?"

"Balance."

"Glorious Death."

Sighing, Jarvan withdrew a club from his bag and approached the ball. He pointed across the horizon to a distant flag. "We have the ball. We need to hit the ball. Until it goes in the hole."

"I see no hole!" Olaf shouted.

"That would be because it is small."

"Am I allowed to make it larger?"

"No. Now, as I was saying... " The prince snapped his fingers. "Ah, yes. One other thing, before you make a long shot like this, you have to be sure to yell something, so no passerby are hit with the ball."

Olaf grunted. "That sounds like the exact opposite of a good time. Why are we warning them?"

Finally having had enough, Jarvan stepped forward and gave the ball a hearty smack, shouting "FORE!"

Immediately, Shen tensed up and began to put away his clubs, which were violet and made of spirit energy. "We need to go. This was a mistake."

Jarvan blinked. "I'm...not sure what you're talking about."

Shen whirled around, his eyes nearly bulging through his mask. "You said it. You said the word. His word."

Still baffled, Jarvan blinked again. "Golf?"

"No." Shen whispered. "You said…"

'FOUUUUUUURRRRRRR!"

A garishly decorated golf cart came zooming down the hill, its driver exiting the vehicle with a flourishing strut. Clicking his heels together, Jhin, the Virtuoso, approached the trio.

Shen was frozen still. Jarvan simply frowned. Olaf had left because the scene didn't need him anymore. "Hello there, Jhin…" Jarvan muttered, looking away. The new guy sorta gave him the creeps.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen." Jhin whispered, assuming an odd stance as he looked at the two of them. "I thought I heard someone mention-"

"Ah, Prince Jarvan!" Shen suddenly shouted, looking to the left. "We need to go retrieve the ball, right?" He winked, but again, the mask made this gesture entirely pointless.

Jarvan nodded. "We do. We'll, er, see you later, Jhin."

"Farewell…" hissed the Virtuoso, turning and beginning to scrub away at his gun.

As they walked towards the perceived landing zone of the ball, Jarvan gave Shen a confused look. "What in the world was that about?"

"It's...Jhin."

Jarvan gave a grave nod. "I understand. Luxanna told me she'd read about him...apparently numerous gruesome murders throughout Ionia…"

Shen shook his head. "That's not it. It's true. Khada Jhin is the most deplorable being I have ever encountered. You can ask Zed, and he'll tell you the same. But the worst thing isn't the bloodlust. It isn't the obsession with killing."

Shen grabbed Jarvan by the shoulders and pulled the unsuspecting, wide eyed prince close. "It's that he never, EVER, shuts the hell up about Four."

Jarvan slowly pushed Shen off of him, not wanting this to turn into one of those other stories. "You mean...the number? Like my number?"

Shen shrugged. "Again, yes and no. Yes, four. No, not fourth. It's just...I don't know. It's something about the way it sounds, it makes him…"

The Kinkou ninja stopped. His Ki Blade was resonating, signaling the approach of someone. From behind a tree, Khada Jhin pirouetted into the field, strutting towards the pair again. "Good afternoon!"

Jarvan gave a half-hearted wave. "Hello again, Jhin."

"I brought something for you!", the killer announced, reaching into his hidden pocket and revealing, with a flick of his wrist, a set of pencils and paper. "Some writing material."

Jarvan nodded. "Oh. Well, that's...kind of you, but I have to ask, why?" Suddenly, Shen realized. He prepared to stomp on Jarvan's foot, push him down, slice him open, anything to prevent Jhin from hearing and answering-

"In case you were keeping…"

The brief pause felt like an eternity for Shen. He felt like he was watching his father die. Again. And again. And again. Preparing for the shitty pun.

"SCORRRREEEEEEE!"

Jhin's shout was enough to startle Jarvan, sending the Prince stumbling backwards. Shen simply lay on the ground, defeated. Cackling, the Virtuoso leapt aboard his golf cart and drove away, his laughter fading into the distance.

Jarvan looked down at Shen, his eyes burning with indignation.

"That monster must be stopped."

* * *

One walk to the Institute later, Shen stood in front of a locked door. Deftly retrieving a key from a chain around his neck, the ninja turned to Jarvan. "You are the first Demacian to be allowed into the chambers of the Kinkou Triumvirate."

"I'm, uh, honored." Jarvan replied. "But wouldn't that be in...Ionia? It's not here anymore."

Sighing, Shen opened the door. "Look. We're going through a rough patch." Raising his voice to a more respectable level, he ushered Jarvan inside. "Behold! The sacred chamber of the Kinkou."

It was a storage closet. A small array of boxes had been arranged into a fort, and others into three desks. Hanging from the ceiling was a large piece of wood, into which had been engraved the letters "SACRED CHAMBRE OF THE KINKOU".

Jarvan's eyes lingered on the second word. "Shen. You...you spelled "chamber"..."

The ninja groaned. "We only had the one plank of wood. Mistakes were made. I told you, rough patch." His shoulders slightly sagging at the indignation, he sat down at the center desk, motioning for Jarvan to take a seat on a large box in front of him. As he did so, Shen began to rummage through the shelves behind him, before revealing a small gong.

"Now, I shall use the Summoning Gong." The Eye of Twilight curled his finger into his gloved fist and quickly flicked it into the gong, creating a resonating sound that echoed through the halls.

The champions sat in silence for a few seconds. Jarvan coughed. Shen drummed his fingers on his desk. "Sometimes it takes them a minute." Shen muttered.

A minute passed.

"Do you...do you think you should hit the gong again?"

Shen hit the gong again.

This time, a small purple figure walked into the room and nimbly leapt across the desk on the right, standing atop it as he faced Jarvan.

"THE HEART OF THE TEMPEST!" Shen announced, raising both arms.

Jarvan waved. "Afternoon, Kennen."

The Yordle waved back. "Heya."

Another dejected moan came from Shen. "Can you just...let me have this one? When Akali comes in here…"

"When I what?"

Akali had entered, her facemask pulled over her hair in a makeshift bandana. "Sorry it took so long, I heard the gong while I was in the gym."

"THE FIST OF-"

"Personal fitness is important." Jarvan added, nodding sagely.

Akali pointed at Jarvan as she climbed into the desk on the left. "You got it."

Shen laid his head on the desk. "Shadow. The fist of shadow, hooray, good, whatever."

Akali winced. "Oh, you wanted to do the thing. My bad. So, why are we meeting today?"

Speaking up, Jarvan looked around the room. "Today we had an unpleasant encounter with...Jhin."

Kennen's eyes darkened. "What? Did he...did he maim someone? Garen? I always thought he had it out for Garen."

Jarvan shook his head. "He...he made a shitty pun."

The atmosphere in the room became thick with dread. Akali groaned. "No, no, no! Not again! It happened to me earlier!"

"What?" Shen was surprised. "What happened?"

"Well, I told you all I was in the gym, right? I'm just on the treadmill, and Jhin comes over and starts doing sit ups next to me. It was weird. But he kept looking at me through that...eye hole. So I asked what he was doing." Her eyes grew wide. "He...he stood up, he put his hand on the armbar, and he whispered: "Working on my...COOOOORRRRREEEEEEEE!"

Shen involuntarily twitched at the sheer mention of another joke from Jhin. "We need to stop him. We must put Jhin in a state in which he is incapable of making puns."

Jarvan shook his head. "We cannot kill him. Such is the nature of this place…"

"I know that!" Shen muttered. "But there must be a way...there has to be a…"

There was a loud sound of ripping cardboard, followed by a sudden yelp, as Akali's box-chair ripped and the Kinkou ninja tumbled inside. She writhed her limbs furiously.

"Dammit! Are you kidding? Why is it always mine? Why does mine always…"

Kennen got up and walked across the room, reaching out. "Alright, I'll grab your legs, we're just gonna have to drag you out. So, on the count of 3…"

"This...this meeting of the Kinkou Triumvirate is adjourned." Shen declared, with all the joy of a man whose dreams had been tossed into a blender.

As Jarvan exited the room, Shen turned to his colleagues, working intently to get Akali out of the collapsed box.

He wondered if it was too late to ask Zed to join his Order. That one was probably a lot better.

* * *

Over the next few days, Jhin's reign of terror had become unstoppable. He had waited for Kassadin to approach the front entrance, simply to leap out and shout "DOOOOOOORRRR"!. He interrupted the showing at the theater to remind everyone that the movie would contain "GOOORRRRRRRRREEEEE". The shopkeepers had left Summoner's Rift, terrified of the Virtuoso approaching them to ask about the prices at the "STORRRRRRRREEEEEEEEEE". Soon, the ragtag group of mostly insane people that comprised the League of Legends had become even more mad.

Jarvan IV, however, was undeterred. He had a plan. And it started with baiting a trap. He waited in the central hall of the Institute, resting on a small couch. His pose was casual, but his purpose was steeled. His eyes lit up as he noticed Garen entering the lounge, his breakfast clasped in his massive hands. A dull feeling of guilt ran over him as he beckoned his friend over. He would be...a necessary sacrifice.

"Greetings, Prince Jarvan!" Garen enthusiastically greeted his ally as he sat down on the couch.

"Good morning, Garen." Jarvan's eyes began to dart around. Garen's narrowed.

"Err, is everything alright, old friend?"

"Garen. If my father is the 3rd Jarvan...what am I?"

The Crownguard seemed confused. "Well...clearly you're...Jarvan the Fourth."

Jarvan waited. No. It wasn't enough. "Well, if he's 3, then I'm…"

"The fourth. You are the fourth Jarvan." Garen shrugged. "Is this some kind of joke, Jarvan? I'm afraid I don't...get it?"

The prince felt sweat begin to drip down his back. He knew it was now or never. He was playing with fire. The cliched sayings swarmed about his mind before he opened his mouth.

"Garen. What comes after Three?"

"Well, obviously, f-"

"FOUUUUUUUUUUURRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Jhin leapt out from behind the counter, arms spread in a fantastic display. The entire room shook as Alistar, who had been reading in the corner, fell over and began to sob.

Garen locked eyes with Jarvan, and betrayal emanated from the Might of Demacia. Mouthing "I'm sorry", Jarvan then turned to Jhin. "Ah, Jhin! Could you come here for a moment?"

Sauntering over, Jhin obliged. "Did you need something, Prince Jarvan?"

Jarvan pointed at a specific spot on the ground. "I could have sworn I saw someone drop a...Hextech...Guncleaner. Right there, on the-"

"Oh, on the…"

Jarvan winced. Shit. He had forgotten about-

"FLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOORRRRRRR?" Jhin crowed, striking another pose. At this point, more champions had entered the room, and every one of them looked to be in great pain. Except for Sona. Sona thought it was actually pretty funny. Not that she could tell anyone.

Jhin smiled and went to reach for the ground. His gloved hand made contact with an invisible mushroom, and it exploded, sending spores into the face of the masked Virtuoso. With a strangled cry, he groped at his mask, but it was too late. Jhin soon sank to the ground, asleep.

Smiling, Jarvan stood upon the couch, not paying attention to the fine leather being ripped up by his fancy boots. "Champions of the League! It is done! Thanks to the generous donation of one Captain Teemo, this mushroom should put Jhin to sleep...for an entire week!"

The crowd erupted in applause. Except for Sona. Sona would miss the puns.

Garen clapped a hand on his prince's back, smiling wide. "I have to say, Jarvan, you had me worried. Thank you for saving us all."

Beaming, Prince Jarvan IV looked over the sleeping serial killer. "I did it for the good of everyone, Garen. Now, I'll need your assistance...let's move him somewhere less...populated."

* * *

Both muscular Demacians dragged a sleeping Jhin through the halls, feeling rather accomplished.

From the ground, a sleeping voice began to shout, unconsciousness doing little to dissuade his volume.

"SNORRRRREEEE! SNORRREEEEE! SNORRRREEEE!"

It would go down as Khada Jhin's greatest crime of all time.


	2. Urgot's Birthday

**AN: Hey. So, this used to be called "Jhin's Greatest Crime", right? Don't worry, I didn't sneak a new story into your Follows/Favorites if you had that in there. Instead, I realized that I wanted to write some more comedy one-shots in that little universe, so I came up with this. I also didn't want to spam with Jhin's Greatest Crime, in another story, so I'm just molding it into this one. It's still Chapter 1. A proper prologue will come when I get around to writing it.**

 **Yeah, it's messy, and I apologize, but this is the simplest way I could find to do it. I hope you enjoy.**

"EXTERNAL SENSORS INDICATE THAT THE SUN HAS RISEN. EXIT REST MODE."

It took quite a bit of patience to get used to your own insides screaming at you. Thankfully, Urgot had little but patience. As the hulking, undead, mechanical monstrosity opened his one remaining eye, the familiar dull sense of constant pain began to fill his body.

Well, the upper half of his body. The lower half was gone.

Writhing his mechanical legs, Urgot slowly rolled out of bed and onto the ground, scrambling with at least three limbs to get to an upright position. Blinking with fatigue, the Noxian warrior slowly lurched towards the mirror.

Yep. Still Urgot.

He sighed. Why couldn't he be Talon? Talon was cool. Talon had a cape. Talon had LEGS. As he brought up an arm to longingly rest on the glass of the mirror, a metallic shriek and cracking sound reminded him. Talon also had hands.

Slowly withdrawing his bladed appendage from a new hole in the mirror. Urgot hobbled to his dresser, abruptly realizing the pointlessness of this gesture when he remembered that he did not, in fact, wear clothes. Thankfully it wasn't too gross, since his whole lower half was...gone. But he did get complaints about the nipples.

Raising his arm cannon, Urgot fired another Acid Hunter missile into his wall calendar. Leering with robotic eyes, he made a shocking discovery. Was this it? Was this the day?

Today was Urgot's birthday.

From somewhere within the horrible mounds of flesh and metal that made up his "heart", Urgot felt a bubble of joy. It felt...nice. With a little extra bounce in his...waddle, the Headsman's Pride exited into the hallway, calling out with a gravelly cry of happiness.

"EVERYONE! IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!"

There was silence. Then...mostly groaning.

"It's 4:00 AM!"

"SHUT UP!"

A furious honk came from Bard's room.

Urgot slowly realized, once again, that his internal clock caused him to wake up much earlier than most of the other Champions. It was a design flaw. It was simply typically mitigated by the fact that it usually took him a few hours to lift himself out of bed. This was also a design flaw. Urgot often wondered if he was not, in general, a design flaw.

"Oh...I'm sorry…"

A glowing orb thwacked him in the belly from a nearby door as Urgot crumpled over again, stuck on his back once more.

"Sorry, Syndra…"

This was a minor setback. After another brief period of struggling to right himself, Urgot found himself slowly lurching towards the elevator. As he gently prodded a button with the tip of his pointed blade-stub, Urgot tried to remain positive, something that was generally hard to do when your blood was 34% Zaunite Acid. Maybe this would still be a good birthday. It had just begun.

* * *

There was a pleasant ding as the elevator reached his floor. As the metallic doors swung open, Urgot hobbled inside, before getting an unfortunate shock at the look of the man already in the elevator. It was Garen, the Might Of Demacia, scourge of villains everywhere, and a guy who had chopped him in half once.

The Demacian's eyes widened, but he kept his composure as Urgot shuffled in next to him. He would have much preferred to stand in the other corner, but Urgot didn't exactly fit. "Oh! Good morning...Urgot."

Urgot tried to avert his gaze, staring at the knight's massive shoulderpads. He wished he had shoulderpads. "Good...morning."

The door seemed to close as if it was in slow motion. From somewhere down the hall, Zilean chuckled. Zilean's a real asshole.

Urgot coughed, a horrible, unnatural hacking sound. "So. It's, uh...it's my birthday."

"Oh yeah?" Garen shuffled in place. "That's...that's good."

"Uh huh."

The doors finally closed, and the elevator began to descend.

"So. Which...which birthday exactly?"

Urgot would have raised an eyebrow, if he had one. "What do you mean?"

Garen stiffened. "I mean...when you were originally born, or when they...brought you back...from being...dead. After that whole...thing."

A post-Runeterran world allowed for somewhat civil relations between former rivals, but this sort of awkward moment wasn't an uncommon occurrence.

"Oh. You mean when I got cut in-"

"Yup."

Urgot wondered how much longer this elevator ride was going to take. "It's...actually the same. When you...when someone, killed me...it was on…"

Garen paled. "Your...birthday."

Urgot slowly nodded. "Uh, yeah."

Another agonizing series of seconds passed.

"Well…" stammered the large man, with two, perfectly good, still attached legs, "I hope it goes well for you."

Urgot nodded. "I just hope nobody...cuts me in half."

Garen laughed the most forced laugh in Runeterran history.

"Ha."

Urgot replied.

"Heh."

"Ha."

"Heh."

The elevator mercifully reached the lobby floor, and both passengers scurried out in opposite directions.

* * *

As Urgot sat in the lounge, he carefully positioned himself near the door, where everyone would see him as they walked by. As many of the Institute's inhabitants left their rooms, they passed without a word. Sometimes a glare, as his early morning transgressions had evidently not been forgotten, but there were certainly no words. Not even a mumble. After a few hours of expectant lounging, the Noxian war machine sighted a kindred spirit. And behind Kindred, Sion!

"Sion!" Urgot was pleased. The Undead Juggernaut was one of his oldest friends, bonding over war, Noxus...being dead...really all of the things Urgot tended to enjoy. Surely Sion would share in his birthday cheer!

"HELLO THERE, URGOT!" screamed the hulking zombie. Sion really had no concept of an inside voice, but it certainly didn't bother Urgot, who only had the vague remnants of ears anyway.

"Have you heard the news about today?" Urgot's eyes shone as he looked up at the larger champion.

"I AM AWARE THAT IT IS YOUR BIRTHDAY! BLOOD FOR NOXUS!"

Urgot nodded, his mostly artificial heart soaring. "It is!"

Sion smiled, a truly terrifying sight. "I GOT YOU A GIFT."

A gift? This was beyond Urgot's wildest dreams! "A gift?"

Proudly, Sion reached into his satchel, revealing an old, rusted axe.

"THIS IS FOR YOU, FRIEND!"

As the massive weapon clattered to the floor in front of Urgot, he glanced at the metallic instrument. "Erm...thank you, Sion!" Common courtesy dictated that he could not tell Sion that he couldn't actually USE an axe, because he had no functioning hands. "But...isn't this your battleaxe? I would hate to take your favorite axe!"

Sion shook his head, chortling. "IT WAS! NOW I HAVE…" Reaching into his enormous knapsack created solely for the convenience of this joke, Sion revealed a much larger, shinier, and higher resolution battleaxe. "THIS! IT GOES VERY WELL WITH MY NEW SOUL FURNACE, AND MY NEW METAL JAW, AND MY NEW…"

Evidently Urgot had visibly sagged. It wasn't uncommon.

"BUT...ERM...I'M SURE YOU'LL GET NEW STUFF EVENTUALLY TOO, URGOT! LIKE MAYBE...UH…A…"

Urgot's torso had almost reached the ground at this point.

"A NICE NEW...MONOCLE...THING? I'M GONNA BE HONEST BUDDY I'VE NEVER BEEN SURE WHAT THAT IS."

Urgot shook his head. "Thanks for trying, Sion. I appreciate the gift. But...I might need some help moving it."

Unfortunately his friend had already taken off in the other direction, charging at full speed while screaming. It was something Sion tended to do when things got awkward. With a sigh, Urgot began to kick the axe along as he waddled towards the exit to the Institute courtyard. Perhaps the fresh air would do him better.

Instead, he was immediately met with a toxic cloud of gas, bursting up from the ground into his face. Coughing, Urgot sank to the ground, slowly losing consciousness. It had not been a good birthday so far.

* * *

REINITIALIZING. REVITALIZING. REVIVING. RISE AND DESTROY, URGOT.

The cyborg woke to the familiar sound of his own insides yelling at him. The central processor seemed particularly vexed today.

"You alright, big guy?" The shrill tones of Captain Teemo were enough to force Urgot upright again. Next to the Yordle, a tall woman with several tails frowned, staring the mechanical monstrosity in the face.

"We keep telling him not to leave those mushrooms around." Ahri's ears flattened in annoyance.

"So...what are you the two of you doing?" Urgot inquired, desperate to take his mind off of the birthday disappointment, if only for a moment.

Ahri's eyes lit up as she grinned. "Skin Delivery Day. We're supposed to be getting new ones this week."

Urgot's eye widened. The real one. The mechanical one just sort of jiggled. Of course! This could be it! A surprise gift...a new skin! He'd certainly enjoyed the previous ones, though bloodstained aprons and crab costumes had rather limited fashion uses. But, for Urgot, they were special.

"Incoming!" Teemo excitedly dashed backwards, Ahri quickly following behind. From above, a large crate was hurtling towards the ground, landing with a thud on the grass.

"RIOT GAMES SKIN DELIVERY" was emblazoned on the side, written in large, red ink. The fox-woman rushed forward, ripping the lid off with a ferocious swipe. "Oh. Oh. This is good."

Reaching inside, Ahri tossed a bundle to Teemo. "Astronaut suit. That's for you."

The yordle grinned, unfolding his gift. "Wow! This is fantastic! Did you get anything?"

Nodding, Ahri retrieved another package from inside the crate. "Uh huh. Looks like something...red? Not sure exactly. I'm sure it'll look nice, though. Oh, wow, they got Darius a jersey…"

As the mage rifled through the remaining contents of the box, Urgot gave an extremely conspicuous cough. "Is there...um...anything for me in there? For...Urgot? The, uh...the birthday boy?"

"Let me see!" Ahri scooped the rest of the packages into her arms and began to read the labels. "Swain, Tristana, Rengar, Ur-"

Urgot squealed, a thoroughly unpleasant sound, but Ahri's face paled.

"Oh. Uh...I'm...I'm sorry, they crossed your name out and wrote "Annie" I...I don't think this is going to fit you."

The birthday boy watched as hope was cleaved in twain before him. Just like his lower body.

"Well...maybe next week." Ahri was starting to look very uncomfortable. "I'm gonna go...deliver these. Maybe Teemo could put in a good word for you? I...I'm going to...bye."

In a burst of azure light, she was gone, and Urgot cast his eyes towards Teemo. Sadly, he saw nothing, because the Yordle had gone invisible to escape this awkward conversation. With a heavy heart, Urgot trudged back into the Institute.

* * *

"SUSTENANCE IS REQUIRED. FIND FOOD OR YOU WILL DIE. AGAIN."

Urgot's stomach was no longer in one piece, so a mechanical replacement was required. It was also very rude, but such was an unfortunate side-effect of Zaunite robotics. The hulking Noxian pushed his way through the doors to the Institute kitchens. Across the room, a woman with a menacing wingspan was furiously stirring a large pot, shouting orders to the other corner.

"Need higher heat! Do it! You think we can serve champions undercooked fish? I'll make you EAT that damned shield if Soraka has to treat salmonella again!"

Urgot recognized Pantheon as the recipient of the Fallen Angel's rather enraged requests, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, through his helmet, somehow. Maybe that was condensation. "Understood, commander! I shall fry this salmon so thoroughly that the very CONCEPT of RAWNESS is ERADICATED!" The Rakkor unleashed a mighty battle cry, rattling the cookware around him.

Urgot's mechanical eye began to zoom in on a luscious prize. A single plate of cookies sat, unattended, on the end of the long counter at the center of the kitchen. Urgot swallowed. They would be his.

"ACTIVATING TIPTOE MODULE"

Rising ridiculously to the metallic tips of his legs, Urgot began to creep through the room, not wishing to get the attention of Morgana or Pantheon. Thankfully, they both seemed preoccupied with plates on burners. After an agonizing 10 feet, Urgot finally reached the treats. Because he had no functioning arms, he had to lean forward, inching his mouth towards the cookies…

CRASH!

A kettle collided with Urgot's gut and smashed into the ground, producing a loud ringing sound. Morgana whirled on her heels, her eyes blazing with violet flames. "You!" With a throwing motion, the witch cast a burst of dark magic at the unfortunate intruder.

Urgot sighed as he felt his body freeze in place. Morgana did adore her snare spells.

"CROWD CONTROL DETECTED, FIRING COUNTERMEASURES!"

Uh oh. He had forgotten to turn that module off. From his cannon arm, Urgot involuntarily fired a missile. A Zaunite Acid Hunter. Powerful enough to melt through a tank. Certainly enough for an oven.

The hissing projectile lodged itself within Morgana's cooking station, and as the angel looked on in horror, it exploded, splattering her stove with noxious chemicals that ate away at it, dissolving the very metal. It also totally ruined the potatoes.

Urgot was so embarrassed, he forgot he was snared in place. And leaning over. As Morgana's hex wore off, he crashed to the floor, the colossal quake that followed scattering ingredients and utensils all over the floor. The Noxian sighed as a ladle crashed down on his head. "I...I might need some help getting up."

* * *

Urgot sat alone in the courtyard, the bench sagging under the weight of metal and flesh. Mere minutes remained in his birthday, and he thought back on it.

It sucked.

Well, that was about all the reflection he needed. The massive Noxian sighed deeply.

"URGOT!"

As he cast his eyes upward, Urgot saw Morgana stomping towards him. He sighed and activated his Terror Capacitor, prepared for an assault from the angry baker. She hadn't been pleased when it had taken herself and Pantheon an hour to clean up the kitchen, and another to get him back upright again.

"Yes?" Urgot sighed sadly. "I already apologized. Is there anything else."

She nodded. "Of course! But not from me."

A shadow appeared on the moon above. Urgot watched with equal parts awe and terror as Pantheon descended from his massive leap, landing with a crash in front of the bench. As the dust settled, Urgot saw that the Rakkor held in his hands no spear, no shield, but a large, frosted, cake.

"HAPPY BIRTHDAY, URGOT!"

The doors flung open and the champions of the League rushed outside, clapping and cheering happily. Urgot was stunned.

"But...I thought…you…"

With a smirk, Master Yi shook his head. "We would never forget such an occasion for one of our fellow champions."

Another cheer rose as the Headsman began to smile. "You were waiting for a surprise party! Guys! This is...this is…"

"This is a massive narrative cliche, and it honestly makes no sense that we wouldn't have told you earlier. Furthermore, Pantheon probably should have gotten dust all over that cake, or somethng like that.", Sona said. Or, at least she wanted to. Sadly, she couldn't speak. So she just smiled.

Garen approached Urgot, clapping him jovially on the shoulder and handing him an envelope. "We got you gifts!"

Excitedly, Urgot read the message aloud. "I promise never to lop off one of your limbs again, except maybe on accident- Garen."

The Demacian looked expectantly at the birthday boy, who was beginning to tear up. "That...that is the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me, Garen."

"Don't forget this one!"

In another flash of light, Ahri reappeared, breathing heavily. "I've been...dashing around all day getting the finishing touches put on it. Needed rubies for the eyes, had to get Taric to cut them...just...look!"

A costume was pressed into Urgot's lap, and his heart filled with joy as he read the label. "Battlecast...URGOT?"

Ahri grinned widely. "Yup! There was something in there for you, but we figured since it had been a while...you deserved some extra touches. Sorry it took this long."

Urgot's reverence at the new skin was broken only by Sion hoisting him onto his shoulders, the Undead Juggernaut roaring with joy. "LET'S ALL HEAR IT FOR URGOT, AN UNFORGETTABLE CHAMPION!"

Cheers erupted as Urgot looked over the group, Morgana waving a hand.

"Alright, everyone. There's been a bit of a...setback in the kitchen, so eat well tonight! There's enough cake for everybody! Just make sure Cho gets to it last."

Surrounded by his friends, bitter rivals, and weird shit like Bard, all of whom still wished to celebrate his special day, Urgot felt a foreign sensation. Happiness. He gazed at the moon's reflection in the courtyard lake and smiled.

Truly, it had been a wonderful birthday.

* * *

Deep beneath the festivities, under the lake's reflective surface, a large figure lumbered towards a tiny table. He sat down next to it, the rusted joints of his diving suit creaking from the pressure. Lighting a single enchanted waterproof candle on his single enchanted waterproof cupcake, Nautilus sighed heavily.

"Happy...Birthday...to me…..Happy Birthday...to me…."


	3. Prologue: Not Canon

**AN: Here's the "prologue" for all this. It's a goofy sort of sketch comedy, so it doesn't matter too much, but it's always good to have a setting! So this is chronologically before the last two, but don't really worry about it.**

It was a day like any other in Runeterra. Poros wandered about the frozen plains of the Freljord, colored eagles soared across the skies between the grand towers of Demacia, and somewhere, Karthus was upset.

"What do you MEAN I wasn't "summoned today"?" The undead was feeling particularly sour at the moment, considering he had bothered travelling all the way from the Shadow Isles to visit the Institute Of War this morning.

In front of him, an azure robed mage sighed. "Nobody picked you, Karthus. I'm sorry."

"But...but WHY?"

The summoner shrugged. "Dunno. They got Ahri and Viktor in there right now."

His pride wounded, Karthus scoffed. "Oh really, what does AHRI bring that I don't?"

"Um. Mobility, wave clear, a passive that doesn't require...death?"

"Death is my whole gimmick!" With a flick of his arm, Karthus pulled back on his hood. "See the spooky face? The weird green gas thing? I'm like...the Grim Reaper or something, that's my entire design! And I've got wave clear! Haven't you seen my Skit-"

A gloved palm was jammed in Karthus' face. "Shh. Can't call them that. Copyright. Gotta call it a Fruit Disc."

The lich sighed. "I have...the fruit disk move. The...the one that I spam a lot? It's...really good! And I can...um…"

"FIRST BLOOD, AHRI!"

Cheers erupted from the entrance to the Fields behind them, making Karthus' heart sink a little. The summoner raised an eyebrow, as if expecting a continuation.

"Ah, yes! I have...REQUIEM!" Karthus grinned madly and gave a little cackle. "No other Champion of the League can damage all foes on the map at once! With the power of REQUIEM, I can-"

"Barrier."

Karthus frowned. "Huh?"

"Barrier. You just pop Barrier and suddenly that ult's nothin'. Now AHRI's ultimate…"

Furious, Karthus grabbed the summoner by his lapel, hoisting the smaller mage into the air. "What is your name, summoner? I will ensure Yorick finds you the shoddiest tombstone to engrave it upon!"

"AhriLuvr25!"

Karthus blinked. "...I'm sorry?"

"That's my name! Let go of me!"

He answered the request, dropping the mage back to the ground. "You...were born with that name?"

"Yeah! It's on my papers and everything, you undead freak! Now get out before I call Vessaria!"

Karthus began to slink away. These summoners always had the worst names. He had once been forced to fight under a man simply named "ASSMAN". It was a fate worse than death, he knew from experience. Karthus scowled. What was the point of those summoners anyway? Worthless, pompous mages! If he could have it his way, they would all be gone!

It was a day like any other in Runeterra, until that moment.

There was a great shuddering of the earth, a flash of light from the heavens, and the sound of a distant explosion. Karthus could feel its force pushing him backwards. What sort of magic was this? This had to be beyond even the Rune Wars!

When he opened his eyes, Karthus found himself in the same spot, with one crucial difference. The area outside the Institute's borders seemed to have simply faded away. Before him was a great expanse of white. Feeling an uncharacteristic pang of worry, Karthus whirled to check on the poorly named summoner. He was gone. They were all gone. The mages that had been milling about the entrance to the stadium had simply...disappeared.

"Well," the lich murmured to himself, "I didn't know my ultimate was THAT good…"

* * *

When it happened, Azir had been sitting on his throne in Shurima, gazing out over his kingdom. Someday, the sun would rise on his land again...figuratively. It was literally doing that anyway, it's a desert. But after the flash of light, he found himself somewhere very different...the lobby of the Institute Of War. And he was not alone.

Every champion of the League stood in the massive hall, which was getting quite crowded, even despite its size. He could see Noxians, Zaunites, whatever the hell Rengar was...it seemed that the whole world had experienced what he had.

"Oh dear…" Zilean muttered, weaving about the gathered, confused crowd, "What time is this? Does anyone know? Have they invented the digital clock yet, I'm into that!""

Chaos was erupting as voices from throughout Runeterra clamored for clarification! A cacophony of concern! It would take something truly magical to get all of their attentions at once!

"BrrrrrrrMMMMMMMmMM!"

As the sound of a horn echoed through the chamber, the champions looked to the sky to see Bard, floating above.

"Ah!" Soraka shouted, "Good spirit, tell us what has happened!"

"Boop. Bop boo. Brrrrm. Boopa boo. Wom wom wom wom."

Soraka frowned. "Can you...enunciate, oh great spirit?"

"Boooooooooooop. Bop. Bawp? Bo. Brum. Boop. Ah. Booooooo. Womwomwomwomwom."

The Starchild sighted. "Okay, never mind. Are there, uh, any other great spirits here? Or...great spirit translators? Does anyone speak Boop?"

"HOLD YOUR TONGUE!" This time, the attention was on Renekton, who stood, blades at the ready, at the side of his accursed brother. "I don't care what happened, but I will have your BLOOD!"

With a speed that not even the wizened Nasus could counter, Renekton shoved a sharp edge into his brother's heart. There was a breakout of gasping and screaming as Nasus sunk to the ground, dead.

Then he came back.

Just as soon as the corpse had breathed its last, it reappeared, upright at its position. Nasus blinked and gave his reptilian murderer a withering stare.

"Brother. What the heck."

And so, just as the champions found even more questions, a being arrived to deliver answers. A ripple in spacetime itself seemed to appear in an instant outside of the gates, and the massive celestial dragon, Aurelion Sol, poked his head inside.

* * *

"Greeting, champions." The dragon's voice was serene and echoing, almost mocking amidst the din of confusion in the room. "I trust you're all wondering what just happened to you."

Aurelion Sol smirked. "But that is the wrong question. Instead, you should be wondering…" The great dragon leaned to the side, revealing the Institute's courtyard, and the white abyss beyond. "What happened to the rest of the world?"

"Is this some sort of mage's trick?" Olaf gave a guttural growl. "I've got heads to crack, and they ain't all here!"

"No tricks. And I'd give up on that. Or, really, any other life goals you had. For you see...this is the dimension we multidimensional god-beings call...non-canon."

Tristana held up her weapon.

"One N. To put it simply...well, more simply...you and this Institute no longer exist. Runeterra will continue, and fear not, you will be there...or, well, other VERSIONS of you will...but this place is lost, and you with it."

With a heroic flourish of his cape, Garen pointed his sword to the sky. "I shall not give up our world so easily!"

The dragon smirked. "You can't do much about it, I'm afraid. But hey, look on the bright side! No more war, no more conflict...you'll be fine!"

"I, er, seem to have noticed that we can't die?" inquired Lux, whose eyes were locked on the rather grumpy Nasus.

"Oh, yeah, there's that. So...you all have fun. I've got to go to another dimension now...dinner scheduled with Ao Shin and Omen."

Tryndamere blinked. "Who?"

"Donnn't worrrryyy abbbouutttt itttttttt!" The Star-Forger's voice faded as he pulled himself back through the tear in existence, closing it behind him.

* * *

For a few moments, there was a profound stillness. The sheer gravity of the situation seemed to weigh on everyone's mind. Their world, gone, their families, gone, and everything was far too melancholy for a comedy story where, at the end of this chapter, to make up for this, Twisted Fate will slip on a banana peel.

"Dibs on the High Summoner's office." There was an avian squawk of agreement as Swain began to hobble towards the stairs.

"What?" Jarvan IV called up after him, shaking a golden gloved fist. "You can't just do that!"

The Grand General's cackling was the only response to the prince's outburst, and, with some hesitation, the group began to disperse.

The next few days were an adjustment. Old Summoner dormitories were refitted and reused, as they certainly would no longer need them. Everyone became more or less accepting of this fate, at a rather astounding pace, because I don't need to drag out this prologue any longer.

* * *

Several days after the event, it was a normal day in this Runeterra. There were no more plains of Freljord, or towers of Demacia. That story would continue elsewhere. But, for those gathered here, a new life was just beginning.

Duchess Karma sat in a small chair next to the window of the Institute's parlor. Metallic footsteps and the soft whisper of blades floating through the air alerted her to Irelia approaching.

"Hello, old friend. Take a seat?"

The warrior obliged, sitting on a stool next to Karma. "Duchess...this is quite a change. How are you coping?"

Karma smiled and shrugged. "I simply know that, somewhere, my counterpart, my other self, will carry on my work. And things are not all bad. We will make this world vibrant, and full of life, as we did before. When I look out at this world, Irelia, do you know what I see?"

Irelia shook her head.

"Hope."

Leaning to her side, Irelia looked out the window as well. In the courtyard, Twisted Fate strolled through, whistling a tune to himself. He proceeded to slip on a banana peel and fall directly on his ass.

"CONSARNIT! MY DANG KIESTER!"

Somewhere in the distance, Karthus shed a tear. He might miss ASSMAN after all.


	4. Positive Katarina

37.

Thirty-seven knives was the maximum that would fit into a standard Noxian dartboard. Katarina DuCouteau stared at her work on the wall and felt her mouth sag into a frown.

How did she even know that?

The truth was, this was not the first dartboard Kat had filled with knives. Nor the first with darts, shuriken, or even forks at one point, after a particularly awful dinner. In fact, it had become her usual leisure-time activity.

And she absolutely hated it.

Katarina was born into combat and bloodshed. Her entire life had been spent either on the job or waiting for it. Nothing pleased her more than the death of a mark, and the rush of escaping, blood soaked and proud. But this was now impossible. A distant fantasy, locked away in a world where Jarvan IV was still a prestigious target, not the guy who accidentally poked a hole in her drywall. This was torment.

So she wouldn't stand for it. She had spent most of her time locked away in her chambers, and she would keep it that way. There was nothing interesting going on out there anyway.

This was why the knock at her door was such a surprise. Slowly climbing out of bed, sluggishly walking to the door, she put her ear up to the wood. "Yeah?"

"We need to talk, Katarina." The raspy voice was easy enough to recognize.

"Swain, sorry, but I'm not in the mood."

"You're never in the mood."

"Accurate. Go away."

"If you do not open this door, I will break it down!"

The assassin laughed. "With what, your cane?"

A horrific squawk from outside sounded from the crack beneath the door. A three pronged talon smashed through the wood and twisted the doorknob, opening it to reveal a rather raven-esque Swain.

Katarina groaned. "I always forget you can do that."

"SUCH ARE THE WILES OF A MASTER TACTICIAN" The massive raven slowly shifted back into the Grand General, who pushed his way past Katarina and into the room, his pet flitting around his shoulder. With a frown, he looked her over.

"You look awful."

Katarina shrugged. "Eh. Why bother combing your hair if you can't watch it swish around while you spin in a circle, tossing knives at people?"

Swain gave her a blank stare. "I'm pretty sure that reasoning applies literally only to you. Sit down, we need to talk."

Reluctantly, she did as he asked, sitting across from the mage at the table in the corner of her room.

"So, as the Grand General of Noxus…"

Katarina scoffed. "Noxus is gone, Swain. What's that even mean?"

Splaying his hands, Swain continued. "It means, Katarina, that I have to make sure our ideals live on. And what do we desire?"

"Strength, at any cost."

"Exactly! And if we cannot do that through military means, we will gain influence in the most effective way possible in this new world!"

There was a pause as Katarina waited for Swain to get to the point.

The mage cackled. "We will show them the strength...of our personalities!"

Slowly, Katarina lowered her head back into her folded arms. "You've lost it. I've lost it. I hate everything."

Beatrice began to peck at her earlobe as Swain continued. "I know it sounds silly, but look, it works. Draven's teaching people to juggle. Darius runs a basketball league every Tuesday. We've got one LeBlanc doing a magic show while the clone LeBlanc handles ticket taking, we are putting our assets to use! We're gaining INFLUENCE, Katarina. And that is what strength is!"

She remained unconvinced. "I remain unconvinced."

"Even Talon is helping."

Katarina's head tilted slightly upwards. "Talon? Seriously? How'd you convince him?"

"He's actually a fantastic dancer. Surprised you didn't know that." Swain leaned in closer. "But there's one outlier. Someone's not pulling her weight here!"

Sighing, Katarina sat upright again, startling the raven. "What would you want me to do?"

Swain nodded. "That's the spirit! Do you have any talents?"

Katarina shrugged. "Assassination."

"Any talents that don't involve...violence?"

Groaning again, Katarina's head began to submerge back into its forearm cradle. "Of course not.", she mumbled, "Violence solves everything!"

To her surprise, and annoyance, Swain slapped the table with a palm. "That's it! People have problems, and you have a solution! I've got your new job! Motivator!"

Katarina leaned back in her chair. "You have to be kidding me."

Swain chuckled. "Oh, it'll take work. We've got to retool your message, your image...but let's face it, this place is in dire need of someone to kick up the enthusiasm. And I'm sure you've got that! Somewhere. Deep inside. Very deep, but it's there." He stood from his chair and grinned. "Get to work on it, now!"

Preparing another protest, Katarina tried to stand and face him again, but her legs felt cemented to the chair. "Dammit, Swain, Nevermove is the cheapest shit!"

Cackling, Swain started to leave, but Katarina spoke up once more.

"Wait, I have one more question for you. Answer it and I'll do this."

Turning back, the Noxians' eyes locked. "Ask away, Miss DuCouteau."

Katarina swallowed, staring the Grand General down. "Did you kill my father?"

Swain took a moment and shrugged. "I'm...not sure."

"What? You aren't SURE?" Katarina was furious.

"Look, nobody made it clear to me, I'm pretty sure it's heavily IMPLIED that I did it, but…" Swain turned to face you, the reader. "If you want to hear that story, you should read **End Of An Era: Unholy Alliance!** Over 30 chapters featuring your favorite champions! Wow!"

"Wow!" Katarina turned to stare at the reader as well. "Am I in **End Of An Era: Unholy Alliance**?"

"You sure are! And it's only a few clicks away!"

Suddenly, as soon as the sudden wave of shameless advertising had come, it passed.

Swain shivered. "What in the world WAS that?"

With a frown, Katarina shrugged. "I'm not sure, but it felt...pathetic. Like, really sad."

To avoid any more awkward advertisements, Swain made for the exit. "I expect results, Katarina!" He opened it and left, in human form, this time. Katarina could feel a knot in her stomach as she looked at the door to her room.

Great. She was going to have to fix that too.

Suddenly, Azir poked his head through as well. "ALSO PLEASE READ **SHIFTING S-"**

Katarina went back to bed. 

* * *

The next morning, she felt a fire in her gut. Sure, this was idiotic, and normally, would be a complete waste of her time. However, Swain was correct, and circumstances had changed. That, and she had never once backed down from a challenge, and didn't plan on starting today. It was this level of determination that drew her to find an old t-shirt and write the most inspiring word she could think of across the stomach.

"good."

She couldn't help but grin as she looked at herself in the mirror. Yes, the sheer power of that motivational shirt would be enough. But "enough" was insufficient. She had to _excel_. To that end, Kat would have to seek out some help.

As she strolled through the halls of the Institute, Katarina went out of her way to wave and beam at everyone she passed. Most of them regarded these actions with pure terror, likely due to how overwhelmed they were by her motivational power. As she reached the lobby, she noticed Caitlyn in the corner, a coffee mug planted firmly in the Sheriff's hand.

"Hey there, Cait!" Katarina forced herself to nearly skip to the sharpshooter's seat, which was much harder than it looked.

"Good morning, Katarina." Caitlyn's tone was rather dull, as usual, and she raised an eyebrow as Kat sat down.

"What's up?"

Caitlyn lazily pointed a finger at Katarina's stomach. "So….what's…"good."?

Straining every facial muscle she had to smile, Katarina reached across the gap between them and placed a hand on each of Caitlyn's shoulders, nodding violently as she gazed into her eyes. "It's you, Caitlyn. You're "good.". We are all, truly, so very "good.".

With that, Katarina rose and dashed away, leaving Caitlyn slightly trembling in her seat. She hadn't seen a facial expression like that since they'd apprehended the 6th Street Serial Slicer. Her job had prepared her for a lot. But not that. She would spend the rest of the day motionless, contemplating that horrific mental image. 

* * *

Katarina, on the other hand, had finally reached her destination. It was a door no one in the Institute approached without good reason, and even the Sinister Blade had to admit, her heart was pumping a little faster than usual. She walked to the end of the hall, curled her fist, and knocked twice on the door.

There was no answer.

Frowning slightly, she knocked once more.

Still nothing. But there was no way he wasn't in there. Someone would have seen him leave. Suddenly, it all clicked in her head, and she groaned.

Katarina knocked for a fourth time.

"Greetings!"

With an unnecessary amount of flair, Khada Jhin wrenched open his door, posing with arms outstretched, facing the hallway.

"Morning, Jhin." She didn't feel very comfortable around the masked artist. She supposed nobody really did.

Jhin chuckled. "Katarina! What brings you here?" His cheery demeanor seemed to chip away the longer he spoke. "I doubt you'd just...interrupt my work without justification...would you?"

Katarina strained her face into some horrific approximation of a smile. "The OLD Katarina might do that. She also might carve a hole in your dumb mask. But the NEW Katarina is "good.". And she also needs your help with something."

The heels of Jhin's boots clacked as he sauntered backwards, letting Katarina past and into his room. She entered and tepidly looked around. Jhin's room was...strange. The walls were covered in murals, likely done by the Virtuoso himself, but none of his usual subject matter of bodies and blood was on display. Instead, there was an inordinate amount of fruit. Oranges and apples painted in massive stacks, flanked by lines of melons and grapes, with the occasional strawberry. Apparently noticing her confusion, Jhin spoke up.

"It's my new phase. I call it the "Produce Period"."

"It's...uh…"good." I think it really fits that idea….great...job." Every word was a bit of a struggle.

Jhin simply chuckled, reaching into his pocket. "No, Katarina…" The mad killer took a step forward, and Katarina took one back. She felt the familiar sensation of a flower trap locking her legs in place. Horror flashed across her face as Jhin revealed a weapon. A can of spray paint.

She winced as Jhin deftly wielded his tool, firing off four salvos from the nozzle of the can. When she opened her eyes, she quickly saw red on her upper stomach. Usually he'd hit the head...bad aim? Not that he could kill her anyway...

From a cabinet nearby, Jhin retrieved a hand mirror and held it up to the Noxian. She could now see that Jhin had expertly painted, with a can, somehow, an addition to her shirt.

"VERY good." Jhin whispered. "You need ADJECTIVES, Katarina! No art exists without EMBELLISHMENT!"

He fired an additional burst of crimson paint into the air as Katarina watched the artist celebrate. She had to admit, the "VERY" wasn't something she'd thought of. Maybe that was more classy?

"This is...fantastic, Jhin. Thanks. There was something else, though…" She leaned against one of the walls. Oddly enough, it felt less awkward in the room now. Perhaps she had gotten used to it, or maybe it was just the paint fumes. "I need to advertise."

"Oh?" Jhin cocked his head, scratching his chin. "And what makes you think I would know how to do that?"

"Well, you made quite a name for yourself back in Ionia. Mostly with...what you left behind."

He gave a cold chuckle. "You mean...corpses, Katarina? Regrettably for the both of us, not only is that not possible, given the circumstances, I don't think it would fit your style here."

She returned a crooked grin. "C'mon. You're a genius, aren't you? You can think of something. Or am I overestimating your creativity?"

Jhin's body clenched, his fist shaking slightly. "You insult me. Luckily for you…" In a single, fluid motion, Jhin pulled a chair out from under his bed and sat down, his other arm grabbing an easel from the wall. "Anger is a fantastic motivator for art." Jhin began to paint.

Within an hour, the mad artist had finished his work. Curling the work into a tube, he handed Katarina the finished painting, which had already dried because I said so. "Treat it well, Sinister Blade. This...is my SOUL!"

Katarina beamed. "I'll remember that, Jhin. Thank you."

She left to put her poster up in the main hall, eagerly anticipating the results. 

* * *

"Ha! Look at that, Beatrice. His soul sucks."

Swain was cackling. An embarassed Katarina stood in front of Jhin's latest work. It was a detailed painting of...herself, holding onto a tree branch. In gaudy, pink letters, the message "HANG IN THERE!" was scrawled across the bottom. She smiled through the pain as a large amount of champions gathered to look at the strange addition to their decor.

"What...what is it?" asked Xin Zhao, his arms folded.

"It's...me." Katarina mumbled. "I'm being...inspiring! Like, I'm...holding on, despite...something?"

"It's a terribly dated reference to those posters with the cats, and her name is "Kat" so it's a terrible pun." Sona explained. Or, at least she would have explained, if her vocal cords worked.

"And what's with your shirt?" yelled Ashe.

"IT'S VERY GOOD!"

Ezreal scoffed. "That doesn't mean anything. Good at what? I don't think you're good at anything, except being an asshole, and-"

This was it. It had been a long day. Katarina had dealt with spending far too long in the company of Khada Jhin, being pushed around by Swain, and wearing a ridiculous shirt that really, totally, didn't mean anything. Something inside of her, a useful tool in her line of work, snapped.

In a rage, Katarina leapt forward and jammed a dagger into Ezreal. The explorer let out a terrified scream before collapsing to the floor, dead. There were myriad gasps and screams, followed by weapons being drawn, until everyone remembered the situation they were in when Ezreal returned from thin air a few moments later, embarrassed, but none the worse for wear.

"It's. Very. Good. Do you have any other questions?" Katarina's voice was laced with spite and venom.

"No. I'm...I'm good." Ezreal slowly backed up, and Katarina addressed the crowd.

"What I mean to say here today, everyone, is that no matter what happens, life can be difficult. That's why you remember one, very important thing." She threw her head back and cackled. "Violence solves EVERYTHING!"

In the back of the room, Swain sighed. "Well, this accomplished literally nothing. Maybe that new Yordle guy has a talent I can exploit…"


End file.
